


Not The Only One On This Planet

by Whovian_On_Mars



Category: Approaching The Unknown, The Martian (2015), The Martian - All Media Types, The Martian - Andy Weir
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Divergence - The Martian, Gen, Survival
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-15
Updated: 2016-08-14
Packaged: 2018-07-24 03:45:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7492266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whovian_On_Mars/pseuds/Whovian_On_Mars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Nothing has ever lived here. Nothing has ever died here. I originally had thought I’d be the first to do those two things. I had accomplished the first one, but now I’m not so sure about the second…”</p>
<p>William D. Stanaforth had successfully accomplished reaching Mars in 2026, being the first human to step foot on the red planet after experiencing a failure on his ship and received an order to abort the mission, but went against his orders. Nearly ten years later, the Ares III crew landed in Acidalia Planitia, only to evacuate six sols later due to a sandstorm, leaving their botanist Mark Watney behind, thinking him dead.</p>
<p>When Mark set off for the Schiaparelli Crater and to the Ares IV MAV, his route took him within a hundred kilometres of Stanaforth’s Hab. Maybe, he could pop in for a visit…</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Stanaforth's Arrival

Captain William D. Stanaforth took his first step on the red Martian dust, and looked around him in awe. He had finally reached his destination after a long, long journey on extremely minimal nourishment. As he walked through the landscape of Mars in his large white and black surface suit, he looked through his visor to see if he had landed where he needed to be.

While looking, Stanaforth climbed up a slight ascent which led to a cliff, and he was rewarded with the most amazing view he had seen in his entire life, not one you would find on Earth. His mouth opened agape, but he quickly closed it and formed it into a small smile. It was finally starting to sink in: He was the first human in the history of… well, history, to step on a different planet (the moon didn’t count). The first person to be alone on an entire planet, all by himself.

To others, that thought would have been eerie, disturbing even. But to Stanaforth, it was the most calming thing to think about. To him, loneliness was more like a gift rather than a curse. Being alone meant there was no one else to judge you, no one else to taunt or patronize you. There were so many more.

Of course there were the downsides of being lonely. No one to talk to, socialize to, and touch starvation was apparently a thing. But Stanaforth had been alone as long as he could remember. His family died when he was young, and he divorced with his wife more than ten years back. He was never good with people. 

Stanaforth could see plumages of red in the orange-grey backdrop that was the sky. Small dust devils dissipated as fast as they appeared on the Martian landscape due to the lack of any real atmosphere. William could hear nothing but his breath as he walked further.

Stanaforth clambered along the side of the cliff, traversing the red ground to see where he had landed and whether his home was close by. Sure enough, there was a small white dot in the distance. It couldn’t have been more than five kilometres away, Stanaforth thought. That was a walkable distance, even in a bulky suit like his. And so, he set off into the distance.

When he reached his habitat, there was a large van-like rover waiting next to the deflated dome that would be his home for the rest of his life. But he didn’t mind. He went to set up his habitat before peering off to see a few dozen boxes lying in a heap with deflated balloons scattered around the red soil. There was some strewn-up dirt around the area, indicating it had crash-landed on the surface.

“That must be my supplies.” Stanaforth said to no one in particular.

He inflated his habitat with an atmosphere of breathable air first with an air pump of expendable air already attached and made sure it was secure, which it was, before heading off to gather the containers full of food, gear, and most importantly, NASA’s experimental Water Reclaimer. He would definitely be needing it as his dirt-to-water machine had failed during the trip to Mars. Perhaps he could salvage it from the Zephyr and fix it with his newly acquired equipment, but it was unlikely.

Stanaforth dragged all the boxes back and inside his habitat eventually, which barely fitted through the airlock door. He unboxed all of the containers which all held various things like back-up radios, a space suit, a crap-ton of food, reserve water, furniture, toiletries and bedding, you name it. He was set for life, literally.

The next order of business would be to set up the Water Reclaimer, the Air Regulator and the Oxygenator. He was trained to set these three vital life support systems up back on Earth. Step one was to fill the Hab with canned air which was already on the surface and ready to be emptied. Step two, once the Hab was filled with air, was to bring the three vitals inside and turn them on. Step three was essentially reign checking things which would spell boring.

After everything was unpacked and not necessarily placed in the correct spot, the three vital systems assembled and activated with no problems whatsoever, Stanaforth took off his large surface suit and sighed, relaxing on a chair. After a mental debate on whether he should just sit there some more or tell NASA he had made it to Mars, he took the second option.

Setting up a comm, he turned a camera on and pressed record.

“Hello, this is Captain William Stanaforth. I have, against all odds, reached Mars and have set up base camp at the desired area. I am sending this to you to inform you that I will be continuing to conduct this mission and in no way let emotion cloud my judgement like last time.

“My sincerest apologies for disobeying your orders and re-adjusting the Zephyr to fly to Mars: that was emotion clouding my judgement, and like I said before I will not let that happen again. From this moment on, I will take orders from you, not me.  
“I hope you understand that turning the Zephyr around was for the greater good of the human race, and it had paid off well. If you are wondering how I survived without my water machine, I used water collected from the air ventilation as my supply. Unfortunately, I had to sacrifice the plants due to lack of H2O. I miraculously survived on minimal nourishment and managed to land safely without any injuries. 

“I have inflated and set up my habitat, with no faults whatsoever. Same with the rover, the Oxygenator, the Water Reclaimer, the Air Regulator and the comm systems. I have all the supplies you have sent here and is in my custody.

“For now, things are looking swell. I will report to you when necessary. I hope you understand why couldn’t go back to Earth. Stanaforth out.”

. . .

Louis ‘Skinny’ Skinner was sitting at one of the large comm desks at Flight Control, Houston. It was two thirty AM and the night shift was killing him. Even after four months he couldn’t shake off the grief he had for his friend William, who had essentially suicided by going against NASA’s orders and flying off into space without any guidance or telemetry, aiming for Mars. They had lost contact with his ship shortly after.

After that incident with the Zephyr, NASA had effectively cancelled the one-manned missions to Mars. Originally, they were intending to send thousands of people up there, but after Maddox had to fly her ship back to Earth due to a faulty gyro and Stanaforth’s seemingly insane decision, NASA decided that at this point in time, Mars missions alone were too risky and they needed at least five years of research to get it back up and running again.

Skinner sat back in his chair. There was nothing to monitor apart from satellites orbiting Mars and Venus. That was until he got a blip from the surface of the red planet.

It was from the Zephyr. According to Skinner’s readings, it had landed on Mars. But that couldn’t be right, how could it?

Suddenly, an ‘incoming transmission’ information signal had popped up on the large screen in front of everyone at Flight Control. At the bottom of the message had a video file and its coordinates from where it came from.

Skinner quickly typed the coordinates in his computer, and some satellite images from Mars presented itself on the screen. He knitted his brow in confusion as he zoomed in on the set coordinates. When he viewed the final image, his eyes widened.

“Christ…” He whispered.

It was Stanaforth. He had reached Mars.

He needed to get with the director of Mars missions.

. . .

Venkat Kapoor was woken by the sound of his phone ringing from his desk, and woke up with a start.

He jolted upright in his chair, where he had dozed off earlier. Rubbing his eyes, he took his phone from the desk and squinted to read the time. It was two thirty AM. He checked the caller, who was from mission control. It was Louis Skinner.

He answered the call, and a somewhat frantic voice of a middle-aged man came through.

“Joshua, thank god, you’ve gotta come here as quick as possible.” The voice blurted out, as though he was in panic.

Venkat furrowed his brow, “Joshua? Oh, this isn’t the director of Mars missions, he’s in Pasadena right now. I’m Venkat Kapoor, vice director.

“Oh, well I apologise for wronging you. But you have to come to Flight Control Centre right away.” Skinner spewed.

“What sorta time is this?” Venkat croaked in response. “What the hell is it this time?”

“We’ve received a relayed video-response from the Zephyr. We lost contact with it when Stanaforth turned the ship around. It relayed a message from Stanaforth’s habitat, with him in the video! He’s made it to Mars!”

“He- h-hang on, what?” As Venkat’s eyes widened, he quickly jumped off his chair, his tiredness replaced with adrenaline as thoughts rushed through his head. He swiftly grabbed his coat and headed out his office door.

Once Venkat had managed to run across Houston to the Flight Control Centre, he took off his coat and rushed to Skinner’s desk, panting.

“What’s the video message?” He asked.

“It’s from Stanaforth himself,” Skinner replied. “We haven’t played it yet. Hang on…”

With a few keystrokes, the video message from Stanaforth was put up on the large screen and played. The video had William sitting in a white chair inside his Hab, his suit not too far away. Stanaforth then proceeded to describe how he reached Mars and why he chose to disobey NASA’s orders and proceed in the mission despite the odds of reaching his destination.

When the video ended, the whole of Flight Control were speechless, staring at the large screen of a frozen image of Stanaforth’s face after the video ended. Venkat narrowed his eyes and nodded while smiling, having an ‘I’m impressed’ look on his face as well as ‘that sneaky son of a bitch’.

Skinner turned towards Venkat, “Sir?”

“Patch up a video feed right away. I want to personally congratulate him on his achievement and… inform him, on a couple of things.” Kapoor responded, without taking his eyes off the screen.

Venkat sat down at one of the comms and one of the SatCon staff members who happened to accompany him along to the Flight Control Centre patched up a feed. A camera buzzed to life in front of Venkat’s face, and he started talking.

“Greetings from Earth, Captain Stanaforth. My name is Venkat Kapoor, vice director for Mars Missions at NASA. I have personally sent this message to congratulate you on your mostly successful arrival to Mars. A lot has changed in nearly a year, and you’ll probably be wanting to hear a few things.

“For starters, in the wake of Commander Maddox’s failure of her ship and unaccomplished mission, and your violation of orders has ultimately caused the single-manned persons to Mars mission has been dropped. We have decided we need more research and improved technology we can only gain with time and more resources. Don’t worry, Mars missions will still happen, only with multiple people on a mission and possibly a return trip included.

“Secondly, we shut down all contact with your habitat excluding the main comm systems and vitals, and pointed all satellites away from your area since you turned the Zephyr around, as we had originally thought you’d lost your mind and blindly shot out into space with no hope of rescue. We’re working to re-establish a link, but at the moment Mars and Earth aren’t very ideal in terms of where they are in relation to each other at the moment.

“And lastly, I apologise to inform you that your ex-wife died two months ago. She had Leukaemia, and passed away quietly. I just thought you’d probably needed to know.

“NASA understands your motives for being the first person on Mars, and even to disobey a direct order given to you for a Mission abort. If you were on Earth, you would probably get court martialled, but hey, Mars doesn’t do us any favours. You’re off the hook. On the behalf of NASA and planet Earth, we hope you have an amazing life on Mars, and you will be remembered as one of the bravest human beings on this planet, or the next. Kapoor out.”

The camera made a buzzing sound of approval to notion that the video had stopped recording. Skinner’s fingers raced through his keyboard and a small ‘ping’ indicated the message had been sent and was on its way.

“The video’s sent, sir.” Skinner replied.

Venkat sighed and leant back in his chair. After staying in that position for a few moments, he got up and reached for his coat.

“It may be three AM, but the director needs to know about this. And the media relations director. And the president. And basically everyone on the planet. If you need me, I’ll be at my desk getting no sleep whatsoever and sending emails to anyone I deem necessary. Good night… to some of you.”


	2. It All Goes To Shit

“At eleven minutes past three o’ clock AM eastern standard time; Flight Control received a relayed message from the Zephyr, Captain William Stanaforth’s pod-ship he used to travel to Mars. We lost contact with that ship five months ago, and the message has been traced down to Terra Meridiana, Arabia Terra, Mars. If our calculations are correct along with our satellite imagery, then he should have landed almost exactly on target on where his situated habitat and supplies were sent.”

The report room was completely quiet as Megan Helga, the director of NASA, spoke to the sea of reporters in front of her, apart from the few gasps from a few people in the back rows. It was almost ten AM and Venkat Kapoor had succeeded to inform everyone about the message from Stanaforth. This was the first public release of both the information and the video Stanaforth sent.

“Captain Stanaforth had sent us a video message. Louis Skinner was the first person to pick it up at Flight Control. The video will be placed up on our official website in less than an hour’s time. Question time.”

All of the reporters and news people shot their hands in the air.

. . .

As Megan walked down from the podium and off stage, she was met with an unfamiliar face in the hallway leading to countless other offices.

“Personally, I thought that performance was shit.” She said, looking down at some sort of roster while chewing a piece of bubblegum. 

“Excuse me?” Helen raised her eyebrows, taken aback.

“Didn’t you hear me? I thought that performance was shit.” The girl looked up at her now. Judging by her age, she looked no older than twenty. She was shorter than most people and her hair was tied in a bun.

“That’s not how we interpret other people’s opinions around here.” Megan’s face toughened up. 

“Yeah, sorry, but I don’t really give a fuck.” She replied in a nasally sort of way. This woman was really starting to get on Megan’s nerves.

“You do realise I’m the Director of NASA?” Megan pointed out her authority. 

“Yeah, and do you realise that you can suck my-”

“Alright Annie, that’s enough.” Venkat suddenly appeared from behind the woman.

Megan looked like she was fuming. She had never met someone this rude in her life, and simply refused to take it.

“Mr. Kapoor, do you mind explaining who this woman is and how she has the audacity to use this sort of attitude towards me?” Her eyebrows were angry now. That meant she was serious.

“Sorry, Megan. This is Annie Montrose, a newbie. She’ll be learning the ropes with me, won’t you Annie?” Venkat smiled outwardly at Annie, but inwardly was just hoping Megan didn’t blow her top.

“Yeah, yeah, fuck off.” Annie rolled her eyes as Venkat half-dragged her away from the Director.

. . .

A week had passed since the big reveal of Stanaforth’s status. It was still one of the biggest news stories on the internet. By then, Stanaforth had set up an email link, allowing text message to be relayed to the Zephyr and to his Hab. Since the actual   
habitat had no communication per se, it just received messages from the Zephyr from Earth.

Stanaforth sat in a white circular chair, eating a readily-made food pack that was apparently lasagne, but to him all of the food tasted the same. The only sounds in the Hab were his chewing, the prominent hum of active equipment and the ever-so-faint wind outside. Since Mars had an atmosphere basically comparable to the Moon, there wasn’t much that sound could travel through.

Stanaforth was currently reading the flood of emails that had packed his inbox to the brim. He was only done reading about twenty of them and he had around four hundred to go and counting. It didn’t really matter how much there were, though. He’d get through it all eventually. If there was one thing he had here, it was time. Previously, Stanaforth counted how much food there was in stock. All in all, his math was able to calculate a total of fifty years worth of food. He was already in his early forties, that amount of food was more than enough.

The thought of out of all of those emails, not one being from his family made Stanaforth heart pang a little. He was human, after all. His emotions got the best of him once, though, and it would not happen again, even if it was for the best or worst. Then again, his emotions were for the future of mankind, which kind of cancelled the cons with the pros. 

A high-pitched ping from his other desktop indicated that a video message was being relayed to his Hab. Stanaforth put his barely-distinguishable lasagne down on his desk and lifted himself off of his chair, and floated down to the ground since the gravity on Mars was much weaker. He walked over to his desk, opened the video attachment on the screen and pressed play.

Joshua Patterson, the director of Mars Missions’ face popped up on Stanaforth’s screen.

“Hi, Captain Stanaforth, I am the director of Mars Missions, Joshua Patterson. I must personally congratulate you for your successful landing, apologise for my lateness as I was having a few issues with JPL in Pasadena.

The mention of an Earthly name on a different planet seemed strangely outworldly to Stanaforth. He took it as a good sign, though. Mars was starting to grow on him. 

“I want to inform you of a new Mars mission that NASA have planned for the next few decades or so. It’s entitled the Ares Missions. A group of astronauts will visit Mars and stay for a certain period of time, but this time they’ll be returning. That brings me to my next point.

“Since we now have the capability to bring astronauts from one planet and back, on the behalf of the whole of NASA I ask you this: Will you be willing to return home to Earth?

“Yes, I understand that must be a difficult question, but we have time. You have been given a choice. Either return to Earth or live on Mars. Take your time to think, you have plenty of it. Whatever choice you choose, we respect that and in no way will force your hand. Patterson out.”

The message cut out, and Stanaforth was left in a state of intense concentration. The offer was tempting. He’d be avoiding any more danger that Mars had in store for him, and he’d probably get to live a normal life.

But it was much more than that. NASA sent him here for a reason, and he had none to return to Earth. If he did, he’d probably be court-martialled for insubordination, and let the whole population of Earth down. He would be returning to nothing. It was boring back there.

He finally made his decision after a couple minutes. For a man like Stanaforth it was a quick choice. He opened up a message link and turned on the camera, pressing record.

“Hello Joshua Patterson, this is Captain Stanaforth speaking. I have taken your request in consideration and I have decided to decline. Yes, this may seem like short notice but I am firm with my choices and I am certain that my life on Mars is meant to be.

“There is no reason for me to go back to Earth. I am of far much value up here, with half a lifetime’s supply of research and ingenuity on a whole different planet. You can make use of me, definitely. Stanaforth out.”

Stanaforth reached out to the camera and pressed the ‘send’ button. A ping from the computer indicated that the video had been relayed to the Zephyr just a few kilometres away, and was already on its way to Earth.

. . .

Three years later…

Stanaforth wearily opened his eyes. He bent his neck to get a crick out of it, and slowly sat his upper body up. He turned to face the clock on the wall opposite him. It read seven fifty-four.

Stanaforth scrunched his face up and yawned. He reluctantly proceeded to get out of bed and check the daily mission status. It had now been three years doing this routine on Mars, and the captain was none the wiser.

The early morning sun was just rising over the cliff ridge opposite Stanaforth’s habitat. He could see this from his window, and even though the sun on Mars didn’t provide much light, he winced at the brightness anyways. After closing the mechanical shutters, Stanaforth went across to the Hab computer and logged in, checking the mission status.

The screen showed “STATUS FEED UNAVAILABLE” in bold red writing.

Stanaforth’s eyes knitted together in confusion. The first thing that came to his mind was ‘check it again’. Stanaforth quickly typed in a trouble-shooting code to solve the problem, and the end result was ‘connection to Zephyr severed”.

Now was the time that Stanaforth started to worry. What could have happened? Whatever it was, it must have happened last night as communication was working perfectly. A quick diagnostic of the Hab’s comm systems to the Zephyr showed that everything was working fine. The only explanations left were that something was blocking the signal, which was unlikely, or the Zephyr had developed a problem.

Suiting up, Stanaforth depressurized the airlock and stepped outside on the rugged terrain. He looked up on the edge of the ridge he had landed the Zephyr.

The Zephyr was gone.

Instead, in its place was a large mound of rocks and boulders. Worry started to increase in Stanaforth as he half-ran, half-waddled to the Zephyr landing site. Once he reached it, he found remains of what the Zephyr was, underneath a giant pile of Martian rock. He quickly pieced together the available information.

1\. The Zephyr was crushed under some rocks, most likely a rock slide.

2\. The Zephyr was now destroyed, cutting his communication to humanity abruptly off.

3\. He had no way to tell anyone back on Earth anything about if he was alive or not.  
As realization came into play, Stanaforth felt dizzy and tired. The only way to communicate with Earth, gone. Crushed under Mars’s wrath. It was bound to happen at some point, but the moment felt like Stanaforth had received the same treatment as the Zephyr had. He fell to his knees, and looked at the ground. He was stuck here now, with no way of telling anyone if he was dead or alive, injured or okay, whether there was a problem or not.

Shit.

. . .

“What in God’s name happened?” Megan Helga demanded, looking at the satellite photo in front of her.

“Well, the Zephyr had been crushed under a rock slide. Now we have no way of communicating to Stanaforth,” One of the SatCon officers reported.

Megan thought for a minute. This obviously raised some significant complications, some that NASA couldn’t deal with. No communication meant they couldn’t tell Stanaforth anything, nor could Stanaforth tell them anything. Their satellite images were much too weak to capture any communication like Morse code on the ground, unless Stanaforth made a letter about two kilometres wide.

“Are you sure we have no way of communication as is of now?” Megan finally asked.

“We’ve run numerous tests and simulations. We’ve had many theories of how we could communicate him, and the most promising one had been using satellites to relay messages.” Joshua Patterson said. “Satellites are just too weak for any type of large broadcast in both intercept and sending, even an email. We’d need to send more satellites up there, and right now the technology isn’t available.”

“Could he send Morse code messages?”

“The cameras have no way of picking it up, even with image enhancers. It’d be too blurry and making the letters any larger would be tedious and counter productive for daily updates.”

The room was silent apart from the silent hum of machines. The news sank in: Stanaforth was on his own, and any information of threats or problems imminent to his survival would never reach him. Megan put her hand on her chin, and pinched it.

“Can we monitor him in any way?”

“Well, right now, yes. We can’t tell any detailed things like EVAs or whether solar panels would be cleaned, but we can tell whether he used the rover. It’s barely visible on a camera, but it would be clear whether it was moved. And we thing that seeing the tracks could be possible. We’d just have to see.

“But bear in mind it would be difficult. We only have twenty-four satellites up there monitoring, and they all have individual time positions when they pass Stanaforth’s position. We don’t have a clue whether Stanaforth would use the rover and when, so even if he does our satellites would have to be in the right place at the right time to capture him. So, yes, it will be difficult.”

“Make sure you have a way to get that satellite gap time down. From now on, make adjustments for twenty of those twenty-four satellites to be on Stanaforth’s position. Do it anyway you can.” Megan ordered.

“Yes, Ma’am.” Joshua replied.

In the following months, satellites had been adjusted and times had been reduced. All in all, SatCon managed to reduce satellite operation gaps down to five minutes and two seconds. 

It wasn’t until four months later they got activity. They caught Stanaforth’s rover driving at about two kilometres from his habitat. The next day, it was shown parked next to it. 

“Alright, we’ve got movement again!” Skinner reported as the satellite photos at the front of Flight Control showed images of Stanaforth’s rover driving away from the Hab.

“I think this plan’s working rather well. We may not be able to tell him about any danger, but at least we can see if he’s alive or not.” Megan said from behind Skinner’s back.

. . .

It wasn’t until 2028 that Stanaforth stopped using the rover.

Since rover activity was the only thing to go by on monitoring Stanaforth’s status, him not using the rover for a full eight months was troubling. After the first few months, NASA shrugged it off as just coincidental times with the satellites. But after another four, they were starting to get worried.

After a full year of inactivity, NASA cut to the chase.

“As we have received no activity from the past twelve months,” Teddy Sanders, the newly-appointed Director of NASA began at a press conference, “We have no choice but to change Stanaforth’s official status from ‘alive’ to ‘unconfirmed’.”

It was 2033 when NASA finally declared Stanaforth’s death and announced it to the public. A funeral session was held and the world moved on. Even after the first two Ares missions, Stanaforth was still a significant part of the world’s society. His death struck the hearts of millions.

Never did anyone know, that someone in the near future would be in quite a similar situation, and would have to struggle for survival in order to get home. Maybe, just maybe, he would resurrect the dead and bring a new hope to the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I think I have a pretty good idea of what's gonna happen here.
> 
> Watney comes in next chapter. I know this for a fact because I'm writing it right now. And, really sorry for the delay, I just had a lot going on and my Wi-Fi's gone down the shitter. Pretty much.
> 
> Hopefully this story will turn out at least a little bit like I thought it would. Any form of support from you guys would be greatly appreciated! Thanks!


	3. Mark's Arrival

LOG ENTRY: SOL 488

Okay. I have just realized something. Something that could change my course that I go down on Mars forever.

I may not be alone here.

Now, I know what you’re thinking: ‘Watney, are you fucking insane? Has Mars drove you mad? Aliens don’t exist! You’re being ridiculous!”

Yes, you may think I’m crazy. Just hear me out here. In 2026, the first human landed on Mars. Yes, Ares I wasn’t the first. That man’s name was Captain Stanaforth. Originally, Mars missions were meant to be solo. They intended to send over a thousand people here over the course of one hundred years. Stanaforth was the first, followed my commander Maddox. There was a problem with her ship, so she went back to Earth.

Stanaforth’s experimental water maker had failed (if you don’t know how it worked, then he put dirt in it and separated certain molecules and made water. It would have worked with Martian dirt as well, and since he had an air machine oxygen was in supply. Unfortunately, that machine went to shit and he had to turn back. I guess the guy must’ve been crazy or somethin’ because as soon as his ship was remotely turned around he blindly aimed for Mars and went through space. It was a miracle that he even landed on the planet.

So, once he reached there, he was fine for about three years before a landslide removed his ability to talk with Earth. NASA had to monitor him by seeing whether he used his rover or not. How ironic. Eventually, NASA never saw him use the rover and declared him dead.

You see, I don’t think he’s dead.

Yeah, sure, I don’t have any evidence, but think about it. They sent up more than enough food for that guy. Almost fifty year’s worth. He would have survived even if he just stopped using a rover. There would be no reason for him to anyway. Even if he isn’t alive, I would have so much food I could last almost my whole lifetime here. If something went wrong before the launch, I’d survive until Ares IV arrived (or Ares V; I would have messed with the Ares IV MAV meaning NASA’d have to organise another mission). The food’s all vacuum packed, it should be good even if his Hab deflated.

So, either way it’s a win-win for me.

Since that asshole dust storm flung me way off course, I’m in Terra Meridiana now. That’s where he landed. By my calculations, I should be less than three hundred kilometres from his Hab. I could make it there in about four sols. I would stay there a day, then head to Schiaparelli. Now that’s if he’s not alive. If he is, I can’t really estimate. If I take forty-five sols to modify the MAV, I can spare a couple days.

Well, I think I will change course to head over there. It may be risky, but hey, I really don’t give a fuck about risky nowadays anyway. 

. . .

“Where the hell is Watney going?” Venkat Kapoor asked Mindy Park, who was currently staring at a screen that shone brightly in the darkened room of SatCon.

“I honestly have no idea.” Mindy replied truthfully. “Maybe the dust storm disorientated him in some way…”

“Unlikely.” Venkat stated. “He has a sexton and Phobos to guide him. He’d probably notice it after three sols. He’s been travelling in the wrong direction for four of them.”

“Maybe it’s like Pathfinder.” Mindy suggested. “He could be going somewhere else?”

“Well, if we’re thinking about probes, then he’d go for the Opportunity. The only problem with that is that he’s going in the opposite direction. It would be counter-intuitive anyway, he’d get to the MAV in eleven sols. In the direction he’s going, he’s lined up straight for Captain Sta-”

Venkat stopped mid-sentence, and his eyes widened. Mindy looked from behind her and at Venkat, wondering why he stopped.

“Captain who?” Mindy asked in confusion.

“I know where he’s going and why.” Venkat now beamed, looking at Mindy.

“Where’s he headed?”

“He’s going straight to Captain William D. Stanaforth’s habitat.”

“You’re kidding…” realisation swept over Mindy, “But why? There’s nothing there for him. Stanaforth… well, you know, died.”

“Yes, but he also left almost fifty years of unused food. If he took some of it with him, he’d have enough food to last him until Ares V if something went wrong with the MAV before launch.

Mindy first furrowed her eyebrows, then lit up, getting the idea. “He’s sure smart, that’s for sure.”

“Sure is.” Venkat replied, staring at the screen with a smile still fixed to his face.

. . .

ENTRY LOG: SOL 492

Alright. Here’s the situation. I’m about two kilometres from Stanaforth’s habitat. I won’t have to drive anymore, I can walk that distance. Now, if I’m correct, the Zephyr (his ship he used to travel to and land on Mars) should be around one point four kilometres from my position as well. I’ll probably get out of the rover once I finish this log, but I dunno. What I hope to find is food, and Stanaforth (well, okay, maybe not Stanaforth’s dead body, but still, food).

I bet NASA are realising where I’m going and if they don’t know what I’m doing, probably pissing themselves right now. At the moment, there are two reasons.

1\. See if Captain Stanaforth really did die all those years ago.

2\. Take the food that’s available.

I couldn’t pick up a Hab beacon, which is expectable. There would be no reason for it to be up and running in the first place. I did, however, find a piece of ripped Mylar. I guess that’s a good sign. Mylar was used for parachutes of probes and supply packages and of the sort. That means I’m in the right place (my calculations can’t ALWAYS be correct. Fuck you, Phobos).

Now, I have to deal with the likely situation I’d find someone living in that Habitat.

If I do miraculously find Stanaforth doing what he does in the Hab, then I need to be precautious. He’s spent more than ten years on his own both in space and on Mars, and around seven without communication to Earth. My estimations he’d probably have a forty-one percent chance of breaking down in a nervous wreck, a fifty-six percent chance to go ape-shit and either attack me or do some suicidal crap, and a three percent chance to take the situation like it was a hallucination. I mean, spending that much time without talking to anybody up here has got to fuck you up in some way.

It’s morning right now. I’ve set up the solar panels to charge and had a pretty solid breakfast (there’s not much you can do with water and potatoes) and am ready to roll. And I also just realized, if there is food to spare, I have the opportunity to take all of it and eat it. Holy shit, why did I not do this trip in the fucking first place. I could have been well in calorie intake, and last for like fifty years. Fuck. I’m so fucking stupid.

I literally just hit my head on the dashboard for my stupidity, and my head hurts. But still… Christ, I could have had such less problems here on this fucking red hell hole if I just took a two-thousand kilometre’s worth drive to here and picked up a shit-ton of food. I could have lasted to Ares IV, even longer, and now the crew had to come here and risk their lives while still being even healthier than I needed to.

Oh god. The crew. If NASA puts two and two together (which they will do) they’ll never get off my case. If they find out that I could have prevented risking my crewmates they’d probably call it ‘Missed Opportunity’ Mars mission.

Well, enough of that, I think it’s time for me to go out and suit up.

Whoever’s reading this, wish me luck!

. . .

Stanaforth got out of bed a tad late. Stretching his arms and cracking his neck, he slowly rose from the cot that was his bed, and stood up.

Over the years, he let the place go. Mechanical objects, devices, personal items and entertainment were strewn all over the place. He gave up tidying anything up years ago. There was just no point. He was never going to be noticed, and was destined to live his life here, in peace. Just the way he liked it.

When the Zephyr was destroyed, Stanaforth figured that NASA could monitor him by viewing when he used the rover. He tried to use it as often as he could, sometimes driving around for a little while on a scenic intention, or gathering materials for examination (materials being ‘rocks and dirt’).

Slowly, he started to lose the point of just letting NASA think he was alive. In his eyes, he’d just slow NASA down. It’d just be better to let them think he was dead on Mars. NASA would concentrate on other things, like the Ares Missions he heard about before the cut-off of communication.

He had exhausted all of his pre-packaged entertainment over the following years. The idea was that he’d be sent data dumps of necessities over from Earth, but the problem with Zephyr made sure otherwise. The only thing that kept him from being bored out of his mind was drawing.

When Stanaforth was young, drawing was the only escape from social interactment as a child. Stanaforth never liked people as a whole and had difficulty with them, and that’s probably a reason why he went to Mars. As a child, he thought that drawing was just a hobby to get away from it all, when the people were too much. When he was young, a pencil and some paper were his only true friends. He always drew Earth landscapes, but when he went through all his books and movies on Mars, he used the near-infinite supply of paper for his entertainment. 

He loved drawing Mars. It had become a routine: Wake up, have breakfast, rein-check of vitals, then draw for the rest of the day apart from breaks for meals. Luckily, he also had a near-infinite supply of graphite pencils, and being that pencils worked in 0.002 atmospheres, it was useful just going outside and drawing. Of course, it was hard to skilfully sketch with a pencil in a giant glove. Stanaforth eventually got past this. Now he was expertly sketching outside.

Stanaforth had to admit, it did get boring sometimes. He did have small plants like tomato plants and flowers growing by the window sill, but that only provided a small amount of entertainment. His sleeping patterns had grown from ten hours a day to fourteen hours a day. It took out most of his waking hours, which was a bonus. He wouldn’t have to sit through a ridiculously boring sol.

After Stanaforth had finished his breakfast and ran a full diagnostic on the Hab’s systems, he suited up, took a pencil and some paper, and depressurized the airlock. Having so much experience in bulky surface suits, Stanaforth was able to somewhat move easier than when he arrived on Mars.

Stanaforth made his way to the edge of a nearby crater only a few hundred meters away. The crater itself was small enough not to be named, but large enough to be on the map. It was large enough that it took up most of your vision, but small enough to see the far side of it. Stanaforth loved these things in life. The way things are just right, just meant to be.

Just as he was about to place his pencil on the paper, he caught something strange out of his peripheral vision.

A white, elongated dot.

Immediately alerted, Stanaforth dropped his things and spun around to face the object. It was still there. Now it was more detailed. It had arms, legs, and a head. In fact, it looked like a suit. Frankly, it looked like his own EVA suit. A large, white bulky protective armour for a human being.

Human being.

That word rang in Stanaforth’s head. But that couldn’t be right. There was no way possible that there was a human on Mars besides him. NASA informed him years ago that the Ares missions would not interfere with his missions. But there it was, a person on Mars with him. Interacting.

The person in the distance lifted its hand and waved. Stanaforth had an inclination to wave back, but didn’t. He didn’t know who this was. For all he knew, it could be an alien. Or, it could be a hallucination. Or, it could be an alie-

‘Don’t get ahead of yourself, son.’ Stanaforth mentally kicked himself for being like one of those conspiracy-idiots. Choose the most rationale reason for this person who was approaching him.

He decided it was a person who had landed on Mars, and popped in for a visit. Simple as that. This calmed Stanaforth down from his previous panic-like state. What stooped this calm was the crackling in his ears from his mic.

“Captain Stanaforth? Is that you, sir?” A voice Stanaforth didn’t recognise filled his ears. At least that man referred to him by his position. Or, at least, from his voice he assumed he was a man. Checking his arm-pad, it indicated that his comm system had been intercepted. He was quick to reply.

“Please, call me William.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alrighty, finally finished another chapter.
> 
> Hopefully I'll be able to update in the time frame of five days. That's pretty much a limit for me. I could stretch that to seven sols if I ration (made a Martian reference in the notes. I have accomplished something.)
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	4. Two Men Dine

Mark Watney ate another mouthful of his food pack (courtesy of Captain Stanaforth. In all honesty, it tasted like the greatest thing he’d eaten since the dust-storm. He decided a long time ago that potatoes did something to your mind). 

The two newly-introduced astronauts ate in silence at the table. In all honesty, if the two people there were anyone other than them, they’d probably freak out and panic or whatever people do in great stress or lack of human interaction. That sort of reaction. But, for these two men who were sitting down in a fairly uncomfortable table (from NASA, with love) and eating their dinner on Mars with not a care in the world was Tuesday. One, a solo astronaut on a deserted planet for ten years without any communication to humanity. He volunteered for a new world, a new chance to escape. A tough, calculating personality. The other, the complete opposite. A botanist-engineer-truck driver-mechanic-farmer, stranded on Mars by freakish events and sheer bad luck, on his way to salvation. A cheerful personality in the direst of times. These two men look like they have nothing in common, but there is one thing.

Their tremendous desire for their will to live.

Earlier…

Mark could see Stanaforth’s habitat in the distance as he walked out from his rover, where he had made sure to remember the location, and walked towards it. The first thing he noticed about it was that it was still inflated. That was weird, Mark thought. If Stanaforth was really dead, then his Hab would probably have deflated due to the lack of regular maintenance. Nevertheless, he kept walking.

Watney also saw a set of large solar panels; more than he had. It made sense, since the Ares Missions were designed only for thirty days and needed minimal power, yet when someone would stay there for even thirty years plus would need much more power than that. He was thinking of whether to take the solar panels as well when his eye caught something white near the crater next to the Hab.

It was a person. And Watney was certain it was Stanaforth.

Watney stopped. And screamed. In joy, of course. He jumped up and down in a fit of happiness. Not only was his theory correct, he would have someone to accompany him for however time he was there. If you could see his smile through his golden visor, it would have looked like his head splitting in two. 

Remembering to compose himself, Watney quickly brought up his arm pad on his right arm and started tapping buttons. Homing… Signals… Acquiring Signal… Signal Acquired! He learnt that he could remotely connect to any comm system by entering a few codes into the arm pad. He thought he’d need it to remotely connect to the MAV when he got there.

Mark started walking towards Stanaforth (except it was more of a waddle, as it was pretty hard to walk in an EVA suit) and tried to tune the signal. Once he corrected the signal frequency, he greeted the person before him.

“Captain Stanaforth? Is that you, sir?”  
The person – hopefully Stanaforth – was now looking at him, facing his direction at least. He waited for a response, and seconds later he got one:

“Please, call me William.”

Watney smiled and laughed a little. This was it. This was the first human being he had seen in one and a half years. And it felt beautiful. 

“Well, William, you are officially the first human being I have seen in a year and a half.” Mark felt the sting of tears pricking the sides of his eyes. He didn’t care if he cried like a sorry bitch for a minute, and in front of a person who was eight ranks above him. He was allowed to have his moment.

This statement struck Stanaforth as odd. ‘One and a half years?’ Stanaforth wondered. Has this man been sent here on a solo mission to live on Mars as well? Or did NASA become really fucked in the head while he was here?

“You must be someone from the shorter missions here, I’m guessing. But I don’t think NASA would let you stay here one and a half years for a one-stop visit.” Stanaforth said calmly. 

The other line was quiet for a moment. The two were less than three meters apart now, and despite the golden visors of their large white suits reflecting the light off their helmets, the two felt like they were staring at each others eyes, however they looked. Finally, Watney responded:

“I have a long story to tell you. But first, could I get something to eat?”

. . .

Some music was playing in the background, music Mark Watney couldn’t recognise. To him, it sounded like something of a samba – Mexican jive mix. But he didn’t care, he couldn’t care, for it was music to his ears, and not just any music. Not disco music, and it was pure bliss. This made Mark Watney smile while eating his food.

Stanaforth noticed this, and broke the silence, “What are you smiling for?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, well it’s just when a man listens to nothing but disco for a year and a half, listening to any other type of music is a saviour for my ears.” Watney smiled while taking another bite.

“You listened to disco all this time? That is harsh.” Stanaforth smiled a little as well as he continued to eat.

“You know,” Mark started, looking up, “I just realized if other people could see us, they’d probably think we went insane up here because of how calm we are from human interaction deprivation for so long.”

“Well, I was always told I was a collected person in times of stress.” Stanaforth responded.

“You’ve survived this far. I’m impressed.”

“It was boring, I’ll give you that. But so far I haven’t managed to exhaust all of my entertainment.”

Watney’s eyes widened and he looked up from the table. “Hang on, what? How much did NASA give you?”

“Oh, about nine hundred giga-bites.”

“Christ. And I thought MY disco supply was never-ending.” Mars said with a chuckle.

“You still haven’t told me what happened with you, and why you’re here.” Stanaforth pointed out. “I’m interested in why NASA would send a single man to Mars for a year and a half and let him come back. I think that’s a little too much of a stretch.”

“Yeah, except they didn’t do that.” Mark’s smile faded from his face. “I’m part of the Ares Missions. Ares III, in fact. There have been two missions here before me.”

Silence fell between the two.

“And I just realized how stupid that sounded considering what you’ve been through. Sorry. But anyway,” Mark continued, “The Ares Missions were meant to last for thirty days, and with a crew of five or six. And as you can tell, I’ve been here for one and a half years, malnourished, and with no other crewmembers, so I think anyone could tell that things went to shit.”

“What happened?” Stanaforth asked.

“It was on sol six when everything fucked up. A dust storm came into my crew and I’s habitat and the force was larger than the abort margin, so NASA ordered us to scrub. We were caught in the middle of the dust storm when we made our way from our habitat to our Main Ascent Vehicle, or MAV, my ride back to our ship that was orbiting in Mars. I was hit by the worst debris possible: The antenna array. I was blown away in the wind and basically my bio computer was fucked from the hit and it looked to the crew that I was dead, and they had to leave without me.

“I woke up the next day, and I got back into my Hab, fixed up my injury and basically fell into this state of depression for a couple of days. I had enough food to last for a little more than a year if I rationed, which wasn’t infinite. I finally got off my lazy ass and decided to grow some shit. And it managed to work. I got a potato farm up and running and life started getting easier. I had enough food to last to my goal, which was to wait until a supply package was sent to me to last me until the next mission, Ares IV, to arrive and to take me home in their MAV. Technically, that’s why I’m here, but I’ll get to that later.

“Here’s the bit I’m proud about: I travelled to Chryse Planitia and picked up Pathfinder and Sojourner, you know, that probe that lost contact in 1997, and went back, made it work, and voila, I had contact to Earth.”

“You patched up Pathfinder?” Stanaforth said in somewhat amazement. “Now I’m impressed.”

“My appreciation. What you won’t be impressed with is how I fried it by leaning a drill on the wrong side of a table. Don’t even ask. Anyways, pretty much everything was going great until Mars decided to fuck my life up again by making my habitat exploded due to strain on one of the Airlocks. It killed all of my crops, cutting my food supply. I wouldn’t have enough food to last until the supply drop. So, what does somebody at Aerodynamics do? They think of a way to sling-shot my ship that was returning to Earth with my crew on board around it, and go back to Mars to pick me up. So now, I’m travelling to the Schiapparelli crater, where the Ares IV MAV currently sits, so I can modify it, fly up to the ship, and they can catch me.”

“Sounds risky,” Stanaforth muttered, seemingly phased out of the conversation as he ate the last spoonful of his meal pack and stood up from the table, “Obviously you seem to have a lot on your plate.”

“If you count the potatoes, then I’ve got loads of those.” Marks responded satirically.

“So why visit me? Any reason apart from a little chat?” Stanaforth half-shouted from the kitchen, disposing of his wrappers.

“Actually, here’s the bad part…” Watney cringed at the bad news he was about to tell Stanaforth, “You were pronounced dead three years ago.”

Watney didn’t receive a reply for some time. He waited patiently for the answer, and eventually he got one in reply, definitely one he wasn’t expecting.

“Good. Exactly what I wanted.”

“What?” Watney turned over to Stanaforth, who was returning to the kitchen, and quickly pieced the evidence together, “You feigned your own death to NASA? Why?”

“Because I figured I’d be a burden to them.” Stanaforth now sounded less ‘cheerful’ than he already was. “I knew that I would never re-contact anyone after the Zephyr was destroyed. I also knew that NASA would make me their top priority. I couldn’t have that for a lifetime without any communication. It would be too much stress for them, and it would feel to me that I had a responsibility. Eventually, I just stopped using the rover which I figured was the only way they could tell I was still alive.”  
“You could’ve gone out and went to the Opportunity Rover. It’s like, less than one hundred kilometres away.”

“I did. I turned back around as soon as I found it. The thing was in bits, and was sand-blown all to hell.”

“Glad I didn’t go for it when I was driving around here.”

The conversation fell short after Mark’s reply. The two faced each other, not knowing what to say next. Maybe it was the shock finally starting to sink in. After all, they both had lacked in human interaction for a considerable amount of time.

Meanwhile, Mark was thinking about his next move. Sure, his original motives arriving here was to collect Stanaforth’s food supply. That is, if he was truly dead. But recent developments meant that he would have to either leave without food, and risk possible death, or get Stanaforth to spare a few years of his food. And he wasn’t looking forward to that conversation.

Since Stanaforth’s mission was still technically running even though NASA had no clue of it, Mark Watney would be breaking numerous rules jeopardizing that mission, especially one as long-term and important as this one. There would be so many complications if Mark came back with a statement saying Stanaforth was well and truly living. Then again, he could always…

No. There was no possibility in the world he could do that. In no way, shape or form would that option be considerable, to say the least. Mark couldn’t just bring a man long dead from Mars, back home to Earth. Think of the complications. Hermes wouldn’t have enough food for the trip home, and the controversy that occasion would cause would be tremendous. It would blow up in humanity’s history for decades.

“Let me guess, you’re wondering whether to leave me here in peace or take me with you.” Stanaforth deadpanned.

Mark looked up to him, wide-eyed, but also with a ‘you fucking serious’ face showing. They remained in awkward silence for a few minutes, until Mark spoke.

“Maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaybe…” Mark lengthened the ‘ay’ in ‘maybe’ to indicate a better way to say ‘yeah, of course you dumb shit’.

Stanaforth looked to the ground, sighing. He considered his next move, and asked, “What’s your situation at the moment? You said you came for food, am I right? So, really, you technically don’t need me.”

“Yes, but if everything fucks up before launch with the MAV, then I wouldn’t have enough food to last until Ares IV, not even enough to get back to your Hab, unfortunately.”

“I’ll go.” Stanaforth said casually.

Mark’s eyebrows bounced up, and he stood off his chair. If there was one thing that wasn’t happening, it was that.

“Oh, no. No, no, no. That is not happening.” Mark straight-out denied Stanaforth’s request. “Stanaforth, just pause and think of the complications. NASA have deliberated countless hours towards modifying the MAV for my trip home, since my pick-up is going way to fast for it to intercept. I have to reduce weight, and you’d just slow me down… no offence. Even if I could bring you, the Hermes wouldn’t have enough food for the trip home if they only brought enough for six.”

“Mark Watney, I will be joining you on your mission to ensure your survival and that’s an order.” Stanaforth snapped.

Mark Watney was taken aback. He didn’t think that Stanaforth would use his authority to back himself up. Anyways, that stuff didn’t really matter at the moment. If there was a mission plan, it would have gone to shit by now. It was still a large deal, though. If Mark did return, he’d have to face charges for mutiny if NASA had found out Stanaforth was alive.

Mark sighed, “William, please, I-”

“This is not up for debate. I will be accompanying you.”

“Just think about what we’d have to accomplish in so little time to get up into the air-”

“Did you hear what I just said?” Stanaforth’s voice was stern and serious by now, and Mark Watney didn’t want to take any chances of what would happen if he ran out of that airlock that instant.

After thirty or so seconds of mental debate, Mark finally gave in. “Fine. I’ll take you to the Schiaparelli Crater. But remember, I’m not the one taking the shots. I don’t know what NASA would say if I tell them I’m bringing you along.”

“Fuck NASA.” Stanaforth rolled his eyes, “If they’re going to put a man in danger on Mars while he has a point of salvation, no matter how the risk, I’ll pull the biggest mutiny the world will ever see to save that man. And it doesn’t matter if I do, if I return home, I’ll get court-martialled anyway.”

Mark was still hesitant. “Are you completely sure about this?”

Stanaforth looked Watney straight in the eyes and said, “I’ve never been so sure about something since I turned that bucket of scraps the other way and to this red ball of dust.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO SO SO SORRY for the late update dontkillme  
> I've been caught up with SEWING CLASSES AAAAAAH.  
> Welp, so much for that 'one week update time limit' resolution...  
> Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> I will be continuing this for my leisure, and I want it up on the internet just for fun.
> 
> Most of you probably don't have a clue what Approaching the Unknown is. If you haven't seen the movie, you should see it. Despite its poor rating, I like it. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, and expect Chapter Two soon! (I promise Watney comes up next chapter. Or the third one. He's coming soon!)


End file.
